


Teddy Bear

by FinnyPendragon



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinnyPendragon/pseuds/FinnyPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relena's thoughts on the pilots after the second war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teddy Bear

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Anyone remember that scene in the opening sequence of the show where Relena, who’s somehow--dashing out to save Heero and Zechs again, perhaps?--managed to find herself in the middle of a snow-covered battlefield, bends down to brush some snow off a little stuffed bear? Well, that scene’s not mine, even though the fic that came of it--this particular fic, in fact--is, and neither are any of the characters mentioned, no matter how much I wish otherwise. I want Quatre! Um…back to the topic at hand…ignore the author’s obvious insanity, please. As I was saying, before that cute little blonde just had to interrupt: In addition to being inspired by that aforementioned teddy-bear-in-the-snow scene, this fic happens to be my answer to the question of how to get Heero out of Relena’s clutches and into the arms of another one of the pilots. And no, contrary to any possible appearance, I do not hate Relena. In fact, I rather like the girl, in some cases even paired up with Heero. However, me liking her doesn’t mean that I absolutely have to go along with everything the show gave us about her character, either. Hence this little, dark—after all, what fic that talks about insanity and suicide can’t be considered dark?— yaoi-ish snippet of the gal and her thoughts on Heero, the other pilots, and the war. Hmm. Strange what one can do with just a teddy bear.

That’s all it was, you know. All that was left. Everyone--every _thing_ , really--else died or got blown up or otherwise destroyed. But a little stuffed bear survived.

I found him, leaning against a broken, smoldering wall as though he belonged there. But nothing, nothing at all, not even a little, lost bear, belongs in the middle of a battlefield--myself included, though I felt differently about it at the time, thinking that only by being present could I stop the fighting. Such arrogance appalls me now, but then I didn’t--or couldn’t, perhaps--even recognize it for what it was.

I _was_ arrogant then, though, and I know it, now. Sometimes I think I had to be--as did everyone else: Gundam pilots, Zechs Merquise, Trieze Khushrenada, Dorothy Catalonia, and the rest--merely to survive. And I suppose I should be thankful we were all alive to be arrogant, or sad, or insane, or whatever we were. Not everyone was so lucky--including that little teddy bear.

His owner died, I’m sure of that. He was the only survivor of that battle, and perhaps the only survivor of the war, as well. After all, none of the rest of us--no matter how arrogant--came out unscathed, but he was just fine, with the exception of a few singed patches and the untied state of his bow.

Listen to me! I’m talking like this bear was alive. Maybe he was, though, to the kid who owned him. I don’t know.

All I know is how alone he looked, sitting out there in the snow. I bent down and brushed some of the chill white powder off him. He’d lost everyone who ever cared for him--no, I won’t go far enough to say he lost everyone _he_ cared for. I may be a little off at times, but I’m not _that_ crazy.

That little bear had lost everyone who cared for him. So did I. So maybe he wasn’t quite as untouched by everything as it seemed. Maybe he was as confused as I was, just maybe?

After all, Heero didn’t love me--if, as much as it hurts me to say it, he ever cared for me at all in the first place, and all the tender looks I thought I saw weren’t just conjured out of my own mixed-up head. And, if I was completely honest with myself, I didn’t love him, either. Love the image I dreamed up of him, all brave and sweet and kind, yes. Who wouldn’t? I think even his own fellow pilots all loved him--maybe even the same image of him _I_ came up with--at times. But love the real Heero, callus, cold, lives-for-the-next-mission Heero Yuy? No. Again, who could?

Well, they say there’s someone out there for each of us, and in Heero’s case that’s certainly proven true, but that someone definitely isn’t me.

For the longest time, though, I deluded myself into thinking that I not only loved him, but that he returned my feelings. Part--no, _most_ \--of the reason I chased him across the globe and even to the stars was so I could show him that he loved me as much as I did him. Well, he did love me as much as I him; I just didn’t know it.

Neither of us loved the other.

Heero, if he’s capable of loving anyone, feels for that quiet blonde Arab, Quatre. Strange. The boy’s Arab, yet his name is French. Oh, well. Heero loves him, no matter the name, and I know he loves Heero right back.

Quatre’s feelings were plain from the beginning, painfully so--the poor boy’s empathy getting the best of him, I guess; after all, if he can’t hide it when he feels other’s emotions, it has to be pretty hard to keep his own a secret, as well.

So the blonde’s feelings were obvious, to all of us--except Heero. The funny--more like ironic--twist to the whole thing is that everyone, myself included, assumed Quatre’s love was what mine actually turned out to be: a massive case of--forgive the pun--Heero worship.

But the Arab’s feelings ran true, whereas mine, fickle as a summer breeze, were just the infatuated wishes of a little girl.

And I was a little girl, then, though I was the same age as all the Gundam pilots. How could I be anything else? Even Quatre, sheltered rich boy that he was, knew more of the world than I.

He had to, as did the other pilots. No one can--or _should_ \--remain innocent long in the middle of a war. I was fortunate--or not, depending on your point of view, considering how rude my awakening to reality was--to have remained that way for longer than most. Heck, even Quatre, decidedly the most innocent among the pilots, was more Devil than angel. How else could he be, with the blood of so many on his hands?

It pained him, too, then, and still does now. I know. He can scarce stand to be around anything--or anyone, besides the other Gundam pilots--that reminds him, even in the slightest way, of the war and his shameful--to his mind--actions. Foremost among them is, of course, the rampage he went on while under sway of the ZERO system.

Even Heero couldn’t always handle ZERO, yet Quatre still beats himself up, thinking he could have been stronger, better, _something_ , so he wouldn’t have blown up that colony, tried to kill Heero, and almost killed Trowa.

Trowa. Odd. If I had picked anyone, out of the other four pilots, who Quatre would have hooked up with, it sure’s heck wouldn’t have been Heero--no matter my own feelings on the situation. My choice would definitely have been Trowa, and I think the rest of the pilots--or at least Duo, who was the most vocal about the whole mess--felt the same. The small, fragile blonde and the quiet, mysterious Heavyarms pilot were--and still are--such good friends that the pair of them hooking up just seemed--then, and sometimes even now--so natural it _had_ to happen. I know it sure came as a shock to _me_ when Quatre and Heero started going out.

It’s all for the best, though, really. I don’t think anyone could understand Quatre as well as Heero, especially not after the whole ZERO system deal. Heero knows it wasn’t really Quatre’s fault; grief and guilt for his father and sister overcame him, and the ZERO system just managed to take advantage of that. Quatre still doesn’t believe that, of course, but he’s getting better, slowly, with Heero’s help. And really, I don’t think anyone other than Heero, not even a counselor or someone experienced in such matters--after all, who’s got more experience than a fellow pilot and trained killer?--could help the poor kid.

No, not kid. Quatre’s not a kid; he’s never had a chance to be a kid. None of them have. In some way or another--Heero’s training, Duo’s street-upbringing, Trowa’s merc ordeal, Quatre’s heir-hood, Wufei’s clan--they were all forced to grow up, become adults, before they knew how to be kids. I, on the other hand, was a child long after they all grew up. I suppose, in a way, it’s only fair. They never got a childhood, and, as if to make up for that, mine lasted much longer than normal, silly, meaningless crushes and all.

I don’t have a crush on him any more, though. Oh, I respect him, yes. And trust him, all of them, as I always did, and most likely always will. But finding him, wherever he might be, and making him notice me, that’s not the focus of my life any longer.

It’s funny, really. Now that can I see him every day--all of them, since, with the exception of Quatre, who’s just too mentally fragile right now, they’re all Preventer agents, and Heero’s frequently been assigned as my bodyguard--I don’t have this driving need, this _craving_ to just stand there and look at him, like I used to. Which is just as well, considering that his attention’s usually split between protecting me and making sure his small blonde love doesn’t do something stupid out of the immense guilt the boy still carries around, even after so long.

They say time heals all wounds. Well, I can personally testify that’s not always the case. Quatre’s still so shook up over the whole ZERO incident, not to mention his father’s and sister’s deaths, that he just sits in his and Heero’s living room half the time, staring blankly at the vidscreen--whether it’s on or not--too distraught to even think about getting up and doing anything. If it wasn’t for Heero and the others, I’m not sure what would happen to the boy; even getting out of bed in the morning is too much for him some days. He just doesn’t care about himself anymore, it seems; just the people he’s killed, those who’s lives he’s ruined. It’s like the blonde pacifist--if anyone can truly be called a pacifist anymore--feels he should be just as dead as all those soldiers he killed--though he’d say “murdered;” I know, he’s told me before--in Sandrock.

Sometimes I think Heero’s more of a babysitter for the boy than anything, but the two of them, and the other ex-pilots, have all assured me otherwise, time and again. Quatre just needs Heero right now, needs the boy to tell him he’s not bad, crazy, insane, or a murderer. And that’s just what Heero keeps telling him. He does the same for Heero, sometimes, apparently. And sometimes they’re both just so strung-out that Wufei takes over guarding me, so the two of them can have some time to themselves.

Even after Quatre’s given up all pretense of heading Winner Enterprises, Inc., and handed the vast empire off to his sisters with hardly more than a shrug, the paparazzi still show up every now and again, wondering what “the darling Winner heir” is up to. I think the last time one of those hound dogs showed up at the door, Heero tossed her a bone--literally; they’d just finished dinner and Heero’d had steak--beaning her right on the head, before slamming the door in her astonished face with a muttered “Omae o korosu.”

His aim’s still as true as ever, whether he’s running off an overly persistent media dirt-digger, or shooting a gun out of some would-be assassin’s hand. And believe me, there’s been enough of _those_. This peace we established hasn’t been all _that_ peaceful. Still, all these governmental setbacks, no matter how stressful or life-threatening, are nothing compared to everything all those--Gundam pilots, reformed OZies, medics, everyone--who fought for, or against, this new government face every day, now that the fight’s over.

The problems those boys have. Let me tell you, it scares me, sometimes. I’ll be watching news on the vid, see a flash of a familiar face, and suddenly think I’m about to hear something like, “Two Former Gundam Pilots Committed Suicide Today At…”

Truth be told--and I’m no Duo; I deal and dish lies every single day, so you wouldn’t normally hear me say this--it’s come close to that-- _too_ close--more than once. Quatre, each time, too. In fact, the boy tried again just last week. That’s when Heero decided he needed a leave of absence from both the Preventers and watchdogging me, to work on helping the blonde get his head on straight.

Assuming that’s even possible. I don’t think any of the pilots--or my brother, wherever he might be--are really sane any more. Their training was bad enough, but then the war, and ZERO, and I don’t think Quatre’s the only one who snapped. His breakdown was just a bit more obvious--who am I kidding? More violent, more bloody, more, just _more_ , than the others. But, destructive or not, violent and bloody or not, they all broke at some point, and I’m not sure they’ll ever be “fixed” again. Maybe they were broken, cracked, flawed, from the first. And if they were, it’s likely the only reason any of us survived the war, much less came out on top.

If having to deal with all the problems they all struggle with every single day can really be considered coming out on top.

I can tell you I would pity any wife any of the pilots took, if they were likely to take one. She’d have one heck of a time keeping up with any of them, much less _understanding_ them. Even _I_ can’t understand any of them, not really, and I went through some of the same shit--yes, shit; I may be Vice-Foreign Minster, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t learned a thing or two about the coarser side of life--that those boys did.

I guess, like I said--and believe me, a part of me still twinges regretfully when I say it, no matter how long it’s been or how true the words are--that it’s for the best that Quatre and Heero hooked up, and same for Trowa, Wufei, and Duo.

Yes, Trowa, Wufei, and Duo. A threesome. No, don’t go telling me there’s anything wrong with the three of them finding something in each other they all needed. It might--and does, really--strike me as odd that both Quatre and Heero, and the other three, should all get together like they have, but they’re all really good for each other, and I can’t deny the truth of that, no matter how much I want to at times. Honestly, I don’t think they would’ve made it this far, any of them, but especially not Quatre and Heero, without each other’s support and understanding.

Quatre, despite all his own debilitating problems, keeps teaching Heero how to live, really live, and somehow, Heero’s managing to show Quatre that not everything’s his fault, even though Heero himself suffers from that same delusion at times.

But don’t we all have our own little delusions? I know I do…did…still do, sometimes.

Not about Heero, though; not anymore.

It’s funny, really. He gave me a teddy bear, once, with a note. I think that’s when I first started to realize that he wasn’t ever going to be _my_ teddy bear; wasn’t ever going to let himself be held, wasn’t going to comfort my fears. Rushing off to defend me, the world, both, whatever, all the time, he was more likely to be the _cause_ of those fears. And I certainly had them.

How well this peace was going to hold up, how well _I_ was going to hold up, how well any of us were going to hold up, really. The war had been our lives--in some cases our sole reason for existing--for so long. I wasn’t sure any of us were going to make it out alive, and not because I feared any of us dying in battle.

Well, not a mobile suit battle, anyway.

I needed Heero, then, or so I thought; to make me realize things were going to be okay, that we were going to make it out of this alive, all of us.

But it’s more like Heero needed _me_ , oddly enough.

He needed something to fight for, some reason to go on, and somehow, until he discovered Quatre, I provided that for him. I’m glad I was able to do something for him, for _them_ , even if it wasn’t all I’d hoped and dreamed. Even if I’m now just like this poor little teddy bear, lost and alone in the snow.


End file.
